


A Traitor, A Rebel

by BritaniaVance



Series: Rebellions are Built on Hope [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon - Tie-in Novel, Character Study, F/M, Finn Sundays, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, M/M, Multi, Novelization, Other, Prompt Fic, Rebellion, implied Finn/Rey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6864859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritaniaVance/pseuds/BritaniaVance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The transition from identifying as FN-2187 to Finn means more than just changing his name; it is also about how he defines himself and what he stands for on his own terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Traitor, A Rebel

**Author's Note:**

> A response to this week's Finn Sunday prompt: Rebellion. I ended up taking it a step further and exploring how Finn deals with the idea of being a "traitor" by turning the idea on its head and insisting that he is a rebel, fighting for what he thinks and feels is right. Weekly Finn prompts can be found over at rebelfinnsundays.tumblr.com! :) 
> 
> This ended up becoming more of a novelization of TFA but solely from Finn's POV, exploring his journey and his emotions along the way. I almost scrapped this, but my love for Finn is just too strong, and this was great writing practice, too. (And speaking of novelizations, the quote in the beginning about Finn not having a nickname is from the book "Star Wars: Before the Awakening" by Greg Rucka)
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

FN-2187 already felt the part of the traitor the moment his squad mates began to look at him differently. He was one of so many, each bred for the same purpose, so how could he ever be alone?

But 2187 _was_ alone, and he could not quell the clawing need that urged him to protect his squadmates, even if his efforts went unappreciated. He did what he could to make sure that they all stayed together, he couldn’t let Slip fall behind. But his well-intentioned efforts sat sourly with the rest of them. Nines and Zeroes resented 87’s behavior, interpreting his dedication as showing off instead of pure brotherly concern. Slip soon followed suit, and they were his brothers no more. They never were.

_“Let me guess,” the trooper said. “FN-2187 is in charge, right?”_

_“That’s right.”_

_The stormtrooper fixed FN-2187 with a stare. “No nickname. You’re one of those.”_

_“One of those what?” FN-2187 asked._

_The stormtrooper laughed. He looked to be in his late twenties, perhaps, but there was something hard in his eyes, and the laugh wasn’t amused. “An outsider, cadet. You’re on the outside, and you’ll always be looking in and wondering why you don’t belong.”_

The memory replayed over and over since the encounter, as if the trooper’s words gave weight to a feeling he had always felt but never wished to acknowledge, or perhaps just never knew how.

The First Order were not his friends, and they were not his family. They never were and they never presumed to be. They enlisted FN-2187 as a child, expecting that he would honor their charity by allowing him to serve a greater purpose. In their eyes, they were doing him the favor. But the moment his squadmates’ stares changed, their glances laced with distrust and malcontent, 2187 wondered if the First Order had made a mistake, or if he had.

He excelled in his training simulations, but the moment his body refused to pull the trigger on the mining colony, FN-2187 knew he could not serve the First Order. He thought that fight or flight would take hold the moment he stepped foot back on base, but he was barely given the chance. So when they thrust him in front of the villagers of Tuanul and his conscience refused to abide by his training a second time, FN-2187 knew that this was it.

It was do or die.

But Slip beat him to it. His bloodied hands reached out for him despite his resentment, despite his willingness to take care of himself without 87’s help. The wails of the villagers quickly drowned out 2187’s silent mourning for his lost brother, even if Slip didn’t want to be known as such. But if he was so opposed to the idea, why did he reach out to him? Did he, too, regret this calling? Did he wish to thank 2187 and perhaps say that he was sorry? “ _Maybe you could have saved me one last time_.”

But his orders were to kill the villagers, not save his friends - though he reprimanded himself for even calling them such. He looked out for Slip, and he was resented for it. He disobeyed orders and he failed his mission. His blaster did not manage to fire off a single shot once they were lined up in front of the villagers, and part of FN-2187 hoped that they would fire back at him, that a stray shot might grace his blaster and give him an excuse for his actions or lack thereof.

FN-2187 had not done a thing, and because of his inaction he had betrayed the First Order.

He stood in horror as the villagers were slain en masse, his comrades firing with abandon. Not a single one erred, save for 2187, who held his blaster aloft, not firing a single shot.

The crowd had cleared and in his shock 2187 had not realized that the others were gone until Kylo Ren turned to look at him. Dread overtook him, and somehow, he knew that Ren shared his secret.

_Traitor._

The word repeated in his mind, as if it had been spoken moments before, but FN-2187 knew that the only sound that surrounded them was of the flames that consumed Tunaul, a town that had lost its purpose and was now laid claim by the First Order to dust and ash.

 _Traitor_.

A stray blaster shot startled FN-2187 and he knew that if Phasma were watching that she would comment on his lack of poise, and he suddenly remembered his failure, a failure that Phasma would not let go unnoticed.

Kylo Ren turned from him without a word, and though FN-2187 had no idea what the man thought, what he saw, or what he knew, he had a bad feeling, a heavy feeling that the First Order would be the death of him and that it would not be long before he paid for his passive betrayal with his life.

 

* * *

 

When the shuttles returned to the _Finalizer_ , FN-2187 retched.

He could not do it. He could not live this way. And he could not face death, either. It did not quite feel like cowardice, not while he knew there were others in the galaxy that did not agree with the First Order, people like the villagers of Tuanul and countless other populations that were systematically wiped out in order to silence their dissent.

2187 looked out at the open docking bay, at the spread of stars beyond and wondered what else was out there, and who. Just before he could imagine what other life he might have had, a rifle stuck him in the back, startling him.

“FN-2187,” Captain Phasma’s sinewy voice rendered metallic rung at his ear, “Submit your blaster for inspection.”

“Yes, Captain,” he replied by default despite the uncertainty taking root in his chest.

There was a beat of silence, and Captain Phasma turned to leave before saying, the disappointment audible in her words, “And who gave you permission to remove that helmet?”

“Sorry, Captain.”

“Report to my division at once.”

This was it. FN-2187 would have to prove himself or die a traitor, even if he had yet to do anything.

“Yes, Captain.” he replied again, still out of breath and ready to heave up what little remained in his stomach.

As Phasma’s heavy, calculated steps sounded on the ramp behind him, 2187 heard something else.

There was a scuffle on the dock, muttering and indignation, and FN-2187 returned to the scene to see the prisoner from Tuanul buoyed between two other disgruntled troopers.

“Resistance scum,” one of them said, pushing the prisoner along. Just the man was about to make another smart remark and earn another forceful shove, the prisoner was struck with awe, his eyes reaching into the very heights of the hangar, not quite expecting the First Order’s grandiose taste in architecture. Before his eyes fully returned to face the direction his captors were taking him, the Resistance pilot’s eyes fell on FN-2187. He knew he couldn’t see past his helmet, but he felt as if the pilot locked eyes with him.

 _Resistance scum_.

FN-2187’s comrades had never insulted him outright, at least not with words, but the same sort of venom laced their actions, their resentful stares, and the quiet nights they now spent in their bunk.

_The bunk._

2187 would have to return sooner or later, depending on how his reconditioning went, and Slip would not be there to join them. Nines and Zeroes would not mourn Slip, he knew, and they would surely know that 87 had not fired a single shot, both at Tuanul and at the mining colony not long before that. Would their discontent strengthen tenfold? Would it be enough for them to report him? And what would Phasma do with him then?

He had been walking out of the hangar and back towards the base as these thoughts raced through his mind, before he got another glimpse the prisoner. He tried his best to pry away from his captor’s arms, not to flee but to get a better look at the hangar before he was ushered into the interrogation chamber. FN-2187 saw the pilot’s dark eyes scan the room, as if he were counting the TIE fighters that hung motionless, stationed still until they were ready to be utilized.

FN-2187 knew what awaited the pilot. Despite how little he knew of Kylo Ren, his wrath was well-known and was oft spoken of in hushed tones. The pilot had resisted his capture since the moment he was brought to his knees before Kylo Ren earlier, and his mouth had fired off despite the fact that Ren had murdered a man with no remorse only moments before. And even now, the pilot looked about the hangar with eager eyes, fierce with determination, regardless of what lay ahead of him.

The man’s eyes fell on FN-2187 once more before he was ushered with another forceful shove through the hangar doors and toward the interrogation chamber. Without thinking, 2187 stopped in his tracks. Lost in thought, he had almost followed them before gathering himself and changing course so his blaster could be inspected, as per Phasma’s orders. He counted his footfalls, heavy and solid against the metal flooring, as if keeping his mind occupied might calm his nerves and maybe his heartbeat would fall into step, but it clamoured against his ribs and his breath remained quick, nervous and unsure. He had already failed once, and Phasma had given him a pass. Once they found that there was nothing wrong with his blaster, there was no reason for them to reconsider his loyalty. FN-2187 was a traitor, plain and simple. His fate was already set in stone.

… But so was the prisoner’s.

A spark ignited, and FN-2187’s chest swelled with inspiration as his breath quickened, no longer due to the fear of his own execution but because he was struck with an idea. An insane idea, he admitted himself that, but an idea no less that might grant him a new purchase on life, on his fate, and on whatever might lay ahead of him in the moments, and hopefully days and years, to come.

 

* * *

 

FN-2187 submitted his blaster and reported to Phasma’s division, as was requested, but he did not sit still for long. He was given another blaster in the interim and was ordered to report to reconditioning while his assigned blaster was examined after taking a lunch. Knowing exactly how much time he had, 2187 filed into the cafeteria just long enough to force a meal down into his achingly empty stomach to calm his nerves and his nausea, and long enough to be seen by others, should any authorities ask later. He had to buy himself enough time.

He thought he might be sick upon finishing his rations, but downed some water before turning in his tray and reapplying his helmet. He set a course for the halls, walking straight past his bunk (should anyone take note of where he might be headed) and onward towards the interrogation chamber, making sure that the area was either crowded or barren so as not to be noticed or seen.

Rounding the corner, 2187 braced himself and approached the trooper on duty at the entrance to the interrogation chamber.

“I’m taking the prisoner to Kylo Ren.”

FN-2187 had not practiced his speech but the words came to him as if they were naturally planted on his tongue.

“I was not told to expect you.” The guard replied, “Why would Ren wish to question the prisoner outside the cell?”

The incredulity in the trooper’s voice almost unnerved him, but without thinking he replied, “Do you dare to question Kylo Ren’s motives?” His voice was dark and authoritative despite the fact that this may be the death of him.

Thankful for his helmet and suit for masking any visible uncertainty, the guard trooper stuttered, FN-2187’s words having some effect, “No, no! That’s not what I meant, I …”

But he trailed off and said nothing, calming himself, nodding his head and taking his leave. 2187 stood there for a moment, surprised any of that had even worked, and unlocked the prisoner from the containment device.

The pilot slumped in the chair, held up by his restraints rather than his own physical strength, hardly breathing. Once FN-2187 approached, he jerked awake, swallowing whatever pain or discomfort consumed him, and in an instant a confident smirk settled over his features. Despite his desire to appear resilient, there was something in the pilot’s eyes that seemed weary, as if whatever he had just endured was more than he ever had before. 2187’s stomach churned again, trying not to think of what Ren might have done to him, trying not to think of the miners he was ordered to shoot in cold blood or the villagers slain only earlier that day. But the pilot’s confidence in spite of his haggard appearance gave FN-2187 the hope he needed to move forward with his plan.

Life flushed into the pilot’s face as 2187 jostled him out of the interrogation chair and back onto his feet. His eyes lit up as if he were fine and ready for a fight. The same indiginance FN-2187 witnessed earlier returned as he took firm hold of the pilot’s elbow and lead him out of the room.

All that mattered was that the Resistance pilot follow orders until he thought of what to do next, and when an empty hallway bore an equally empty vent alley, FN-2187 took the opportunity to shove the prisoner inside before checking that the coast was clear.

“Listen carefully and pay attention. You do exactly as I say and I can get you out of here.”

The pilot’s face contorted in confusion.

“Wh-what?” he asked soberly, his voice hoarse.

Impatient, FN-2187 defied his instruction to keep his helmet in place while on duty and removed it, finding it a relief for the nervous warmth that plagued his skin.

“This is a rescue, I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?” he asked all in one breath, anxiety taking hold of him despite whatever surety possessed him in the interrogation chamber.

A thought crossed the pilot’s mind and a sliver of realization spirited over his face for just a moment before asking, “Are you with the Resistance?”

His eyes were wide, but warm, and FN-2187 wondered if he had ever even spoken to anyone within this close proximity before. Was he nervous because he didn’t know what he was doing? Or because a handsome pilot was smirking at him, wondering the exact same thing?

“What? No, no, no… I’m _breaking you out_ , can you fly a TIE fighter?” he asked again, his desperation finding a way into every syllable.

Resolve took over the pilot’s expression as he answered, “ _I can fly anything_.” His back straightened despite whatever pain he was in and his eyes took on new life.

FN-2187 did not know if he had ever quite experienced relief to this degree before in his short life, but a laugh escaped his throat at the pilot’s words and his confident expression filled him with a hope he had never thought he would find.

“Wait,” a certain seriousness possessed the prisoner, his brow furrowing as he asked again, “Why are you helping me?”

There was a beat of silence and FN-2187 did not know what to say. _What would appeal to the Resistance? To a rebel? No, to someone who thought he was in the right, that he was fighting for the good of the galaxy._

Without thinking further, 2187 replied, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

The prisoner did not believe him for a second.

“You need a pilot.” He stated, his face still serious.

“I need a pilot,” FN-2187 resigned, his posture slumping and the weight of his half-baked plan already making him feel heavy with regret.

But the pilot’s face lit up, a half-smile enchanting his maimed face as if he felt like a million credits.

“We’re gonna do this,” his smile grew wider, and FN-2187 was the one to question him this time.

“Yeah?”

 

* * *

 

FN-2187 had a hard time controlling his breathing, his movements, his every minute action. His unease made him believe that everyone in the hangar could sense his betrayal as if it were an obvious stench, but no one looked his way, nor did anyone question the mystery delivery of the prisoner back into the hangar.

He still had a hard time believing the pilot’s blind trust in him, but the smile that overtook his face back in the passage kept convincing him to move forward. If the prisoner could manage to remain hopeful after whatever he had been through at the hands of Kylo Ren, then 2187 could make it through the next five minutes… he hoped.

Once inside the TIE fighter, his nerves settled a bit, knowing that there was at least a laser cannon between him and anyone that might stop him, and that there was a pilot who reassured him he knew what he was doing at his back.

If FN-2187 had a hard time pulling the trigger before, he didn’t now. The moment the troopers in the hangar opened fire, he unleashed the TIE’s cannons on them without remorse. A moment passed over him, wondering whether any of this was right, but then FN-2187 remembered the villagers from earlier and how they were wiped out without a second thought by the very same men and women who stood firing at him and the Resistance pilot now. The man at his back had stood to defend those on Tuanul, and though he did not know them, FN-2187 knew that to slaughter them was wrong, and maybe his future lay wherever the Resistance pilot took him, as long as it was far away from here.

The ensuing scuffle was a blur, FN-2187 laughing and jeering at his own newfound skill, having never fired an aerial laser cannon before, but excited to see that his plan had taken off… for now.

And he could feel the Resistance pilot smiling and laughing along with him, equally happy to make a hit and to stay alive. 2187’s veins coursed with adrenaline and the energy that came with the comradery, the very same sort of comradery he always expected would come in time with Slip, Nines and Zeroes but never had, until now.

“Hey, you gotta name?” The pilot asked over his shoulder.

Without thinking, he responded, “FN-2187” in the same tone and structure as he always reported to Captain Phasma or any other official who asked.

“FN… _what_?!”

Upon hearing the pilot’s confusion, he explained, “That’s the only name they ever gave me.”

He never considered the fact that he didn’t have a name, not until that trooper had remarked that he had no nickname. Even though they weren’t assigned one, Slip, Nines and Zeroes all had names. But FN-2187 was just that, FN-2187.

“Well, I ain’t usin’ it. FN, huh? Finn. I’m gonna call you Finn, is that alright?”

_Finn._

The letters F and N had been with him his entire conscious life and he never once thought of putting them together, but the stranger now guiding him away from the First Order thought of conjoining them within the span of a moment, and something just _clicked_.

_Finn._

Only moments into his rebellion and FN - correction, _Finn_ \- felt more like himself than he ever had.

A smile overtook his mouth as he remarked, “Finn,” feeling the syllables upon his lips and on his tongue, tasting them for the first time and liking the way it felt, “ _Finn_ , yeah. I like that!”

“I’m Poe, Poe Dameron,” he replied, and Finn could hear the smile in his voice.

“Good to meet you Poe!”

“Good to meet you, too, Finn!”

He was already as far away as he had ever been from the First Order, and Finn was beginning to think that rebellion suited him more than the First Order ever had.

 

* * *

 

Despite his actions, the newly dubbed Finn was not quite ready to throw in his hat with the Resistance just yet, especially since the one of them he helped escape (and helped _him_ far more than anyone might ever know) appeared to have perished when their TIE crashed upon the sands of Jakku.

A part of Finn felt the same pang he had experienced when Slip reached out for him with a bloodied hand in his final moments. But survival instinct kicked in despite his disappointment as he shrugged Poe’s jacket, all that remained of the pilot now, over his shoulders. 

He had a lot of time to think as he trekked over the sand dunes in hopes that he would come upon a settlement, an oasis, a moisture rig, a tent, _anything_ , and Finn was surprised that his own personal uprising had happened in such a short span of time. The idea hit him upon exiting the hangar and not even a few standard hours later he was escaping in an unsanctioned TIE fighter with a Resistance pilot at his back.

FN-2187 was systematically forgotten with each piece of armor he abandoned along the way, and soon, all that remained was Finn, whatever that meant and whoever that was. Hopefully, he would be granted another chance at life to decide and to discover who Finn might be for himself.

Whatever his intentions were, he had to get as far from here as he could. Even if the sands swallowed him up, he knew it was a better fate than whatever awaited him once the First Order caught up.

Finn almost expected to perish before coming upon civilization again, but when he did he had no time to think about existential crises or what his next move was other than to _find water._ He felt like a dry sponge, shriveling in the sun, and despite his betrayal of the First Order the only thing that occupied his mind was moving forward if it meant surviving at all.

He might have been intrigued by what little life inhabited this planet, who manned the stalls and what these creatures were peddling had he not been sick with thirst, but upon seeing that a well, however dirty, stood no more than twenty feet ahead of him, Finn could not remember feeling so relieved. At least, not as much as when the Resistance pilot smiled his crooked smile at him and agreed to be broken out by a deserting Stormtrooper, no less.

An ache welled in his chest at the thought of Poe, his smile, and his ease of charm as he lapped water into his mouth, wondering what became of the pilot. His jacket remained, but nothing else. He could only imagine that his body had been propelled far from the “emergency” landing site or that he was swallowed by the sands that later consumed the wreck of the TIE fighter. Despite knowing him for a short time, he mourned the pilot as he wiped his mouth dry, having been butted from the well by a monstrous happabore, wondering what might have become of him had he not known anything about the map or Luke Skywalker or if he had shot even one more insult at Kylo Ren.

And just as he wondered what became of Poe, the battered pilot who didn’t even let Kylo Ren keep him from escaping captivity, Finn was distracted by the sounds of screaming nearby, dismayed and taken by surprise.

Rolling over onto his side to get a better look, he saw a girl about his age, a slender brunette, caught between two thugs at least twice her size. Thinking of the outmanned miners from his first real mission, he leapt to his feet and rushed forward, willing to help, before he saw that the girl took command of the staff in her hand and handled the thugs without any assistance.

Impressed, and still recuperating from heat exhaustion and dehydration, Finn stood there for a moment, getting a closer look at the curious droid by her side, before he realized that the girl was now rushing towards him at full force.

Again, instinct kicked in and he ran. Was this all he was good at? Running?

Before he could really question himself, he was knocked flat on his back, already groaning in pain. Still tired from the two missions on which he had been deployed, his escape attempt, and his seemingly endless trek through the desert, all of which had occurred in the the course of the past standard day, Finn was not quite ready to negotiate upon first catching his breath.

“What’s your hurry, _thief_?” the girl asked forcefully, prodding Finn’s chest with the end of her staff.

The word stung. _Thief. Traitor._ But before he could let it get to him, his tired, exhausted body retaliated.

“Thief?!” he cried, as the droid stuck him with a miniature shock arm. It sent tendrils of electricity through him, and despite the pain, it jolted him with the energy he needed to speak up. “Ow! Hey, what?”

“The _jacket_ ,” the girl answered, with equal force as her staff at his chest, “This droid says you _stole_ it.”

Still too worn out to think straight, Finn explained, “I’ve had a pretty messed up day, alright? So I’d appreciate it if you stopped accusing me of- _agh_!”

The droid stuck him again, and this time he was more annoyed than jolted. “Stop it!”

The aggression seeped out of him, but more so out of his weariness than any anger or dismay he might have felt.

“Where did you get it?” The girl asked again, seeming to warm up to his demeanor, as if she knew what it might be like to be tired, hungry, and plagued with thirst. “It belongs to his master.” But she ended her sentence with force again, her face overcome with determination as she steadied her staff, keeping him pinned to the ground.

Whatever pang Finn had felt moments before had returned as he replied, sighing, “It belonged to Poe Dameron. That was his name, right?” Finn asked, surprised he remembered his last name, “He was captured by the First Order. I helped him escape, but our ship crashed.”

His eyes lowered and he looked at the droid, _orange and white, one of a kind_ , just as Poe said. “Poe didn’t make it.”

The droid’s modular head rolled down its round frame as if distressed, emitting a low, sorrowful beep. The girl almost seemed to follow suit, her hold on her staff growing soft and her expression almost mirroring that of the droid’s as if awaiting its reaction.

“I tried to help him, and I’m sorry,” he said, immediately regretting bringing the Resistance pilot into any of this. He could have actually reported to reconditioning, he could have attempted to be what the First Order wanted him to be, or he could have let them dispose of him if he did not meet their standards.

The droid rolled away slowly, as if needing a moment to consider what he was to do should his master not return.

 _Curious_. But despite the character of the little droid, Finn felt helpless, as if he had made more of a mess than he had ever intended, and things were far worse now than they might have been otherwise.

That is, until the girl turned to speak to him again.

“So,” she said, her voice suddenly softer, and laced with intrigue, “You’re with the Resistance?”

It took a moment for Finn to come to himself. He almost introduced himself as FN-2187 before realizing how much of an insult it was to both himself and to Poe who had named him before perishing on the sands of this Maker forsaken place.

And then instinct kicked in again, only it wasn’t like when he sought to survive, but sought to save face in front of the guard trooper back in the interrogation cell of the _Finalizer_.

“Obviously,” he swooped up, rising to meet the girl’s eyes, which he noticed now were a bright hazel, warm brown laced with gold and green. “Yes I am, I am with the Resistance, yeah.” And then he whispered, suddenly recalling that the Resistance were few and far between, hiding wherever possible, “ _I am with the Resistance_.” He hoped it worked to effect.

Upon saying these words, Finn expected the girl to trust him and move onward, but instead a shy smile crept across her mouth, though she tried to hide it despite her best efforts.

“I’ve never met a Resistance fighter before.” She said, her voice still soft, her eyes wistful and wondering.

Finn’s breath caught in his throat and if he hadn’t felt the need to save face he would have soaked in her expression for as long as the galaxy might allow.

Realizing he hadn’t yet responded, he said “Well, this is what we look like. Some of us… others look different.”

He could only assume, seeing as appearance never meant anything to him as a Stormtrooper, but the girl did not even stop to question his bizarre statement and continued on, just as curious and wondering with the thrill of it all.

“BB-8 says he’s on a secret mission and he _has_ to get back to your base,” she said, her expression unwavering.

Despite the display and the feeling her enthusiasm incited within him, Finn replied, “Apparently he has a map that leads to Luke Skywalker and everyone’s after it.”

“Luke Skywalker?” She asked, eyes wide, light reflecting in the golden flecks of her irises. “I thought he was a myth?”

The remains of her excited smile stuck to her lips, but the droid, BB-8 she called it, began beeping animatedly and beckoned them to follow.

Whatever feeling the girl’s smile had sown in his chest, a smile that could rival the stars, evaporated the moment Finn spotted two troopers just on the horizon, speaking with one of the thugs that had ambushed the girl earlier. Despite his dissent, he knew his training was good for something as he grabbed hold of the girl’s hand and led her as far away from the First Order as he could.

 

* * *

 

Finn tries to tell Rey the truth but he is never given the chance, and once his first opportunity is disrupted he feels as if every moment after just isn’t right. But he likes the weight of her name on his tongue, _Rey_ , and the way her face lights up when she introduces herself, just as she did when her excitement to meet a Resistance fighter got the better of her. Finn tells himself that it’s not the right time to tell her because that’s the simple truth, and not because the image of her looking at him with wonder and awe sticks with him even well after the moment has passed.

 _Traitor_ echoes in his mind as he presses forward, telling himself that the time will come, that everything will be alright, that he isn’t doing anything wrong.

And yet the First Order is still on their tail and Rey never asked for any of this.

He bites back his regret and does what he can to keep her safe, and she does the same for him.

When they meet Han Solo, the famous Rebellion General, the man just seems to _know_. He doesn’t need to ask. At first, Finn feels guilty, but when he sees Solo’s face he has the feeling that maybe the man simply knows all too well where lying will get you. He doesn’t tell him what to do, but the sideways glances tells him otherwise. _It’s now or never, kid._

Overcome with confusion, with fear, and with the desire to get as far away from the First Order as possible, he runs. Solo’s pirate friend gives them food and drink once they land on Takodana, and Finn thinks he’s in the clear. But Solo’s contact, Maz he calls her, looks at him funny. Her eyes, magnified to look as large as discs, calculate his countenance and she says, “If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people.” She’s on all fours, crawling atop the table that spans between them, and continues, “I’m looking at the eyes of a man who wants to _run_.”

And though her words resonate, he does not give them purchase. Sure, he’s getting as far away from the First Order as he can, he’s _running,_ but considering all that he’s been through he knows that he did not defy the First Order because he was a coward.

He leans forward and says, “You don’t know a thing about me, where I’m from, what I’ve seen.” Finn thinks of Slip, he thinks of the mining colony, and the villagers on Jakku. He thinks of those unwittingly caught in the blast radius at Niima Outpost and all of those who will undoubtedly follow as they continue their reign of terror. “You don’t know the First Order like I do. They’ll slaughter us. We _all_ need to run.”

He thinks of Poe and his defiance, his warm eyes and his unabashed confidence, and how he is most likely buried beneath the sands of Jakku. He might have convinced him that leaving was worth it, but after nearly getting Rey killed and blowing up Niima Outpost, Finn isn’t sure what it’s worth anymore.

Maz considers him with a curious stare, but questions him no further, concluding with a simple, “ _Hm,”_ as she crawls back into her seat.

She points him in the direction of two mercenaries sitting at the far corner, promising that they will trade work for passage to the Outer Rim if Finn wants to get away so badly. He only stops at the wide-eyed dismay that takes hold of Rey’s face, a half-eaten fruit in hand. “Finn?!”

She has only known him for a few hours, and already he feels as if he has betrayed her and their friendship, that he’s taken it for granted.

“Come with me,” he pleads, a faint smile graces his lips as he asks, though not out of wonder but out of desperation, hoping that any confidence will convince her to escape the First Order along with him, just as Poe had.

“We’re not done yet, we have to get him back to your base!” Her face is screwed up with dismay and confusion, and BB-8 chimes in with a few solemn bleeps of his own.

But then he thinks of Phasma, of reconditioning, of Kylo Ren and the propaganda that they will try to force feed down his throat if they don’t just kill him first.

“I can’t.”

His words are heavy and every syllable is bitter. _Traitor. Deserter. Coward._

They echo dully in his mind with every step that he takes towards the mercenaries that Maz pointed out to him, the men who will somehow bring him to the next stretch of his journey, wherever that takes him.

But Rey stops him again, and this time her eyes are moist with tears she will not allow to fall, and with a certain defiance she confronts him and asks with force “ _What are you doing?_ ”

“You can’t just go. I won’t let you!” She pleads.

Leaving Rey is nothing like leaving the First Order. The moment he revealed his plan to Poe, the pilot’s face lit up and ignited a spark of inspiration within him that he could not quench, but once he crash landed all Finn seemed to feel was fear, at least when he wasn’t in pure awe of Rey. And here she was now, eyes wide and pleading, angry and hurt, and eager to press on.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he starts, but she interrupts.

“Finn, what are you talking about?”

There it is again, _Finn_. But he cannot let the sound of his new name get the better of him and he blurts out “I’m not Resistance. I’m not a _hero_ . I’m a Stormtrooper.” Rey is silent, but he presses on, “Like all of them, I was taken from a family I will never know, and I was raised to do one thing. But my first battle? I made a choice, I wasn’t gonna kill for them. So I ran.” Finn laughed, almost amused at his own choice of words after Maz spoke for him only moments before, “I ran right into _you._ ”

Finn thought of Poe and whatever fate had intended for them, but whatever had happened to the _actual_ Resistance pilot was gone and despite it all there was Rey, bright-eyed and wondrous. “You looked at me like no one ever had. I was ashamed of what I was. But I am _done_ with the First Order and I’m _never_ going back.”

Rey’s hazel eyes were wide and watery, but she stood her ground. Her expression did not falter, she did not pull away from him in disgust of his betrayal nor fear of his reveal. She stood still and silent, and looked on him with the same remorse that overtook her face the moment he said he was leaving her.

“Rey, _come with me_.”

He imagined Rey running with him, at his side, fighting the good fight until they managed to outrun it and to find something new on the other side. Finn did not know what he had intended to become of him the moment he decided to break Poe free and escape the _Finalizer_ and he continued to run blindly until this very moment as Rey stood before him, and suddenly a potential future formed before Finn’s eyes and he did not want to let it go.

But Rey resisted, and urged him, “Don’t go.”

Her voice was low and firm, laced heavily with her utter disappointment.

But if Finn wanted Rey to have her best chance, it was better to not have the First Order on their backs. They must have known by now that it was FN-2187 that helped the prisoner escape, that it was he who fled Jakku with the prisoner’s droid, and that he was now _here_. But Finn hoped they didn’t know Rey, a scavenger from the desolate desert, and he trusted that she might be able to slip back into her solitary existence and escape whatever danger followed them now.

“Take care of yourself. Please?” He said, and he swallowed hard, almost unable to leave. Part of him would rather remain there, in the corner of Maz’s bar, for the rest of eternity, just standing there with Rey, as long as she was there. But if Rey would not come with him and if he wanted Rey to have a chance, he had to leave. He had to.

 

* * *

 

Before he could board passage, Finn felt as if the gaping maw of a black hole formed in his chest. An all-consuming dread overtook him, and without knowing otherwise turned to face the open sky, and there he witnessed five stars snuffed out of existence in an instant.

He didn’t know how he knew. The dismay from the crowd and from Maz’s castle only filled his ears afterward, but the first thing he thought of was Rey.

_Where’s Rey?_

 

* * *

 

Despite his earlier reservations, Finn fought with everything he had. If the First Order had taught him anything, it was how to fight with whatever he had at his disposal, and in this case it was a lightsaber. Only now he was facing men and women he had once considered himself among as Stormtroopers, as a family-in-arms so to speak, though it would appear as if none of them felt the same.

Finn drove the saber through one of the troopers, unsure of whether he knew them once, but suddenly realizing that they were the ones who didn’t care. _They_ were the ones coming at him, Finn was only doing his best to fend them off and keep them at bay if possible. If anyone would blindly attack a group of people at the whim of some cold official’s order, then he wanted nothing to do with them, and if they got killed in the process, well… it’s not as if the First Order hadn’t prepared them for that, either.

The thought still sat poorly with him, and he cringed as he released the saber from the trooper’s chest, but that’s when he heard it.

_“Traitor!”_

And this time, Finn recognized the voice and the trooper to whom it belonged all too well.

Finn reeled around to face a riot trooper as he threw down his shield and equipped his baton, swinging it dramatically before locking it in the ready position. But Finn held his ground at the display, finding some comfort in the constant whir of the saber’s energy humming in his hands.

“Traitor!” He said again.

 _Nines_.

Finn held his saber aloft, firm and at the ready, as Nines charged. Finn deflected his first strike easily enough, but the weight of Nines’ fury was felt full force, and it took everything Finn had to remain on his feet.

The last time he and Nines had fought, they were training, and Finn - correction, _FN-2187_ \- had bested the lot of them, that was until he suffered several losses on purpose, and all to spare Slip. Whatever resentment Nines had felt then, he now felt tenfold.

The way he spat the word,  _Traitor,_ made it sound as if he had betrayed more than the First Order, but his old squadmates as well. Finn could not imagine Nines or Zeroes holding any love for him, even when they were on good terms. But maybe his dissent had incited an investigation among those FN-2187 had worked with closely. Maybe Phasma lost her trust in them, and thought that they might turn, too.

He could only guess as Nines hacked away at him, and despite the sting of his words, Finn fought with more energy and with more heart than he ever thought he had, especially after having such a long damn day.

And just when he thought Nines had the better of him, a monstrous blast from behind took him out, knocking Nines off of his feet, sending him flying backwards into the rubble. Astonished, Finn looked back to find Han Solo smirking at him. How many times had Finn done that for Slip in simulation after simulation? And how often did Nines and Zeroes give him hell for it? He had begun to think that something was wrong with him, but the way Solo took Finn’s expression as a form of thanks before helping him up, Finn felt as if maybe he wasn’t the one in the wrong all these years afterall.

 

* * *

 

The image of Kylo Ren carrying an unconscious Rey aboard his flagship dogged him the entire way to the Illenium System. He screamed his throat raw calling after her, as if she might awaken and flee to his side, safe and sound. He never should have left. Maz was right to question his desire to run, but there was nothing he could do now.

Solo had let him be the entire way to D’Qar, but Finn could sense that something else weighed heavily on the smuggler's mind. Finn kept to himself the rest of the way, staying quiet and out of the way, but he never felt more alone than he did when he first disembarked the  _Falcon._

Resistance fighters milled about, delivering reports, repairing ships and completing other menial tasks as if he was not there, and for all they cared, he wasn’t. He was just a stranger. But in the back of his mind, Finn couldn’t help but wonder what any one of them might do if they found out he was a Stormtrooper - or _had_ been, anyway. It might not have mattered, but the thought dogged him still.

He wasn’t sure where to go, wondering helplessly whether anyone in the Resistance would trust him enough to help him save Rey, when BB-8 nearly knocked him over making a beeline for a pilot exiting his ship just ahead of him.

Finn had hoped against hope that the X-Wing pilot he witnessed take out twelve marks in a row - within a span of thirty seconds, no less - was none other than Poe Dameron. Confirming his hopes and dismissing whatever he had believed before, there he was, _Poe_ , standing here in the flesh, seemingly alive and well.

Without thinking, Finn’s legs began carrying him faster, propelling him forward. BB-8 bleeped excitedly to Poe, who knelt at his side with a wide grin, and suddenly turned to look at Finn.

“Poe?” Finn called, incredulous despite the fact that Poe was indeed standing before him. He didn’t know what to expect, but he didn’t quite expect the reaction he got. Part of him expected an interrogation, a _“Where were you when we landed on Jakku? Why did you leave me out in the middle of the desert?”_ but Poe’s legs seemed to be on the same wavelength as Finn’s, carrying him toward him as the grin on his face only grew.

“Poe Dameron, you’re alive?!”

“Buddy!”

And if Finn was not expecting a smile, he definitely did not expect Poe’s warm embrace as he exclaimed “So are you!” either.

The pilot swung his arms around Finn forcefully, patting him on the back before holding him at arm’s length, already teeming with questions, but Finn beat him to it.

“What happened to you?”

“What happened?” Poe repeated, coming down from his excitement and catching his breath, “I got thrown from the crash. I woke up at night. No you, no ship, nothing. BB-8 says that you saved him?”

“No, no, no, it wasn’t just me-” Finn pleaded, his relief already being swallowed by the thought of Rey in Kylo Ren’s interrogation chamber, similar to the one Poe had been in not long ago.

“You completed my mission Finn, I- that’s my jacket,” Poe paused mid-sentence, suddenly taking in Finn’s new garb. Without thinking, Finn shouldered the jacket off, afraid of being called a _thief_ again, before Poe put another reassuring hand on his shoulder. “No! No, keep it, it suits you.”

Another infectious smile possessed Poe’s mouth before he bit his lip and continued, “You’re a good man, Finn.”

 _A good man_. Finn let Poe’s words sink in, settling into his bones and holding them there, like an anchor to this place, to this moment, and Finn had a feeling that if he could recreate this it in a memory that he absolutely could. Poe continued to smirk at him, his eyes warm and welcoming, and it took a moment for Finn to remember why he was here in the first place.

Poe nodded upon hearing Finn’s request and brought him to the people in charge without question. A moment earlier, Finn had wondered whether they might trust him at all, but with Poe’s unwavering confidence at his side Finn wondered if there was anything he _couldn’t_ do.

This was the exact feeling he had always longed for with Slip, with Zeroes and Nines, with everyone else he was raised and trained with. But being forced to fight for a common goal was not the same as _choosing_ one, and Finn felt the weight of it in full at Poe’s side.

Poe shot Finn an assured glance, placing a firm hand on his shoulder for a brief moment as they made their way down the rough stone steps into the Resistance situation room, and all doubts Finn had about his choice to leave, his entire rebellion, dissolved completely.

An expansive room opened up at the bottom, crammed with teal-lit maps and tracking devices, radars and a variety of other computers. The First Order had their own similar equipment, but everything was cold, stark and glowed a sharp, piercing red. Here, the walls were earthen and worn, ivy crawling the length of them and spindling around equipment as if they, too, were natural formations. Despite the damp atmosphere, Finn already felt warmer here. Something about this felt _right_.

“General Organa,” Poe greeted a woman standing in the thick of it all, speaking with an older man in uniform, their heads together. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Annoyance flashed across her face for but an instant before dissolving into concern as the woman recognized that it was Poe who was speaking. It was clear that she trusted Poe with whatever he had to tell her, and it was then that Finn realized just how wrong the First Order’s reports regarding General Organa really were.

She was small but she looked strong, her stance and demeanor making up for whatever she lacked in height. Her eyes were sharp, alert, but large and deep, dark brown that glowed beneath whatever age lined her face.

“And I need to talk to him,” her voice was stern and Finn was preparing for a tirade not unlike the ones he had heard already. _Traitor. Coward. First Order Scum._ But the firmness in her voice suddenly grew lax, her tone low and appreciative as she continued, “That was incredibly brave what you did; renouncing the First Order, saving this man’s life-”

Poe shot him an affirming smile, almost as if he knew part of Finn was still afraid, still unsure, and though both Poe and the General set him at ease, there was still one thing horribly wrong.

“Thank you ma’am, but a friend of mine was taken prisoner.”

“Han told me about the girl, I’m sorry,”

Poe must have sensed Finn’s worry, the urgency in his voice made apparent as he nearly cut off the General, the one person whose trust he desperately needed.

“Finn,” Poe started, his voice strong and heavy with confidence, “He’s familiar with the weapon that destroyed the Hasnian System. He worked on the base.”

General Organa’s face instantly lit up as she exclaimed, “We’re desperate for anything you can tell us-”

“That’s where my friend was taken,” Finn remarked, still anxious and out of breath, but Poe kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “I’ve gotta get there fast.”

“I will do everything that I can to help, but first you need to tell us all you know.”

General Organa’s expression grew firm again, and her seriousness resonated with Finn in a way he did not expect. All it took was Poe’s confidence in him, Finn’s desperation to save his friend, to convince the woman standing before him, someone the First Order would love to eliminate entirely, to trust him with her resources, with her full discretion, and with her utmost respectful attention. This never would have happened with the First Order.

Finn was overcome with emotion; elation at the prospect of getting to Rey, comfort at the warmth of Poe’s hand on his shoulder, and utter relief at the Resistance’s willingness to trust him, to believe him, to _help_ him.

Was this what it felt like to belong somewhere? Was this what he had been missing for so long?

 

* * *

 

As much as Finn respected the man, he disregarded Solo’s discontent with him as they made their way into the depths of Starkiller base, and though he could feel his judgment poring into his skin whenever their eyes met, Finn could feel a begrudging admiration taking root in the pit of his stomach. Solo didn't trust him farther than he could throw him, but there was an unspoken understanding between them nonetheless. It was as if Han knew better, but understood what Finn felt. He knew why he did what he was doing, even if he was putting the rest of the galaxy at risk - _in theory._ He barely knew what he was doing, but whatever it was, it felt _right_ and that was the most Finn ever had to go on in his entire life. He could not remember a time where he ever felt more like himself, and he wondered what life might have been like had he stayed, had he never rebelled.

He watched and waited as batches of troopers milled about on duty around them, and he wondered if any of them had thoughts of dissent, no matter how fleeting, and what it might take to convince one of them to follow suit.

But finding Rey was his priority right now. If anyone was coming back with Finn, it was Rey, and he was by no means leaving without her.

When Han spotted her climbing up the other side of the hangar, relief swept over him, as well as guilt. As happy as he was to see her, he feared what she might say. Would she rue him for leaving her on Takodana? Would she know how he ran after Ren carrying her near-lifeless body, his feet pounding away at the ground as he screamed himself hoarse after Ren’s flagship? Would she understand how much he regretted leaving her there the moment he stepped over the threshold of Maz’s cantina? Would she believe him if he told her that had she looked back at him, when he turned upon leaving, that he would have gone back for her in an instant?

When Rey wasn’t there as he left Maz’s castle, Finn thought it was for the best. If this was her choice, he could only respect that. He knew she could take care of herself, he had seen it, but there was something far more sinister about the fact that she was in Kylo Ren’s grasp than any other notion had. He knew what the man could do to a strong fighter pilot like Poe, and though he knew Rey could hold her own, Finn didn’t like the idea of Ren going anywhere near her regardless of whether she could fend him off or not.

She was startled when they first came upon her again, as if she wondered whether she had imagined them somehow, but Finn could not keep his thoughts silent, "What happened to you? Did he hurt you?"

"Finn, what are you doing here?" surprise heavy in her every word.

"We came back for you," he said, quick as a breath.

Chewbacca let out a low, guttural growl in response, tinged with an affectionate inflection.

“What? What’d he say?”

“He said it was your idea,” her voice was a hardly a whisper as her eyes went wide and Rey fell into him, nestling her head into the crook of his neck as he did the same to her, as if this was as natural as anything, as if this was how they were meant to fit together.

_“Thank you.”_

He smiled into her hair and relished the moment and the weight of Rey’s words before Solo urged them onward.

Finn’s skin was still warm as they continued on, and he knew that he would never have experienced anything like that had he stayed with the First Order, no matter how much he cared for Slip, or looked out for Nines and Zeroes, and anyone else he might have worked with. He had only known Rey for a day (the longest day of his life, at that) and he already could not imagine a life without her. They had fallen into step without question and instantly cared for one another as if it were second nature. Even Poe, ready to swoop down and save the day, was very much a part of Finn. After knowing him for only a handful of minutes, the pilot had christened him affectionately with a new name and they had embraced as old friends when reunited on D’Qar. Poe was very much a part of Finn as well as a part of the future Finn imagined when they finally left Starkiller base with Rey for good.

A part of him felt sad and sorry for the remaining troopers, and even the others of rank, wondering if they knew what it was like outside all of this, if they knew they were missing out or if they just didn’t care, but he quickly realized that it wouldn’t matter much longer no matter how sorry he felt.

 

* * *

 

Facing Nines was one thing, but coming face to face with Kylo Ren was something else entirely.

Finn had only ever known the man when he donned his intimidating mask, he only recognized the depth of his metallic voice doling out orders and threats, and was hardly familiar with the angry thrum of his red lightsaber. Unmasked and wounded, Kylo Ren was almost more intimidating now in that he defied expectation and he was raw with emotion: anger, hatred, pain. His face did not match his demeanor, he looked almost too young, and the shock of what Finn had overheard and oversaw earlier on the bridge was still potent. Finn had few friends, and in the past few days he was fast to call Solo someone he could trust. But now -

“ _We’re not done yet_.” Kylo Ren sneered through the falling snow, flakes sizzling in the air around his lit saber. “It’s just us now. Han Solo can’t save you.”

He beat his chest, and for a moment Finn thought he was joking, imitating one of the weaker civilizations the First Order often boasted of conquering in the Outer Rim, but then he noticed the blood pooling at Kylo Ren’s feet. Finn’s skin went cold at the display, realizing that Ren was drawing power from his pain, but then steeled himself against Ren’s means of intimidation.

 _“You’re a monster_.” Rey spat at him, her voice just as fierce as her expression. She raised her rifle but before she could fire off a shot, Ren held up a hand and forced her backwards and up into a tree. The sound of Rey’s body hitting the trunk was more than Finn could bear, and without thinking he lunged toward her.

“ _R_ _ey!_ ”

It was like Takodana all over again, Finn’s breath catching at the back of his throat as he reached out for Rey, hoping against hope that there was still some life in her.

“Rey! Rey? No, no, no, Rey! _Please, Rey,_ ” he pleaded, out of breath. He held her limp head in his hands, looking for a sign, any sign. She flinched, but she was still out cold.

Rey was injured, but she was breathing, and just as relief washed over him, a swirl of energy cut through the air behind him and he was met with that stinging word again, “ _Traitor!”_

When Nines had called him a traitor, it was more of an exclamation, an insult thrown across a crowded room, but this was different. Ren’s face was full of rage, his hair whipping about him in the wind in lieu of his cloak, his eyes wild and manic. Was he accusing him or getting a rise out of him? Whatever it was that stung Kylo Ren enough to scream with such malice and hatred, Finn would have to question it later. And though part of Finn had not wanted to fight Nines, there was no doubt that he wanted to face Kylo Ren head on, no matter the consequences.

Resolve took over him as if possessed. Finn stood, defiant, and inched his finger forward on the saber hilt in his hand until its length of blue energy emerged, humming strong. He may not have been a Jedi, but he would fight for his life and for Rey’s as if he were one.

 

* * *

 

Finn awoke to what he first thought was a disappointingly empty med bay, but once his vision stopped swimming he could tell that he had a visitor and that he was smiling with the power of a thousand suns from his bedside.

“Good to see you awake, buddy,” Poe’s voice broke the silence, and Finn felt a hand reach for his. He was still weak, but he could still move his fingers, and the weight of Poe’s palm in his felt nice as he came to, remembering everything that had come before.

Finn smiled, his mind still too foggy to speak. Poe waited patiently, his familiar warm eyes bright and happy to see Finn stirring. When Finn finally found his voice, all he was able to get out was, “Where-?”

But Poe answered before he could even ask, “Rey was here.”

His voice was reassuring, and Finn could almost hear the shadow of a pleasant laugh lace his voice.

Poe’s smile settled into a smirk as he continued, “She was here every day, every minute of every hour. But it’s time for her to finish the mission now.”

Poe didn’t have to say more. Finn knew.

“She’s gone to see Luke Skywalker,” Finn said, his voice ragged and hollow, but it felt good to speak despite the difficulties. Finn’s recovery had been void of dreams, but as he slowly gained consciousness he played his final moments over and over and over again, and the last Finn knew, Rey was still lying in the snow at the foot of the tree Kylo Ren had thrown her against.

Finn’s chest felt hollow at the fact that Rey wasn’t there, but Poe’s hand kept him steady and knowing that she was well enough to continue her journey was more than good news in and of itself.

Lost in his own thoughts, Finn almost didn’t notice Poe who was looking him over with a curious stare. He meant to ask _What?_ But the words barely formed on his mouth this time. Poe laughed, and gripped Finn’s hand a little tighter.

“You’re quite the rebel, aren’t you?”

 _A rebel, huh?_ Finn smiled, a laugh forming at the base of his throat but he was still too weak to let it loose. Just as Poe had dubbed him Finn, overriding FN-2187 and whoever he was once, what now felt like so long ago, his words now rung true again. _A rebel_.

Finn was not a traitor, he was not a coward. The First Order might try and weaken him with such words, but they didn’t sting anymore. He fought against them, and he came up swinging despite whatever brought him down. Finn was a rebel, and he had finally found something worth fighting for.


End file.
